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Monthly Archives: July 2014

You probably just read the title of this post, then scoffed in disgust. It’s okay, you can admit it. You might as well, you’ve already been caught.

However, if some of you had Disney-Influenced childhoods, much like my own, then you probably just pictured this. If so, kudos to you, Disney child. You are awesome.

Mad props to the first person to comment on this post with the movie this scene is from. Bonus points if you also name this character because she was my favorite. You want the mad props, people. They come paired with my undying respect. That’s a pretty big deal.

Now, back to the scoffers. I don’t blame you, really, it is a natural reaction (for sunshine lovers) to scoff at sunshine haters. You’re forgiven for your scoffing (I guess).

But I stand by my claim, whether it is bizarre or not. I can’t stand freaking sunshine and no, it’s not some nihilistic, “go against the crowd” type of deal. I just don’t like it, and I am prepared to explain why.

FIRST and foremost, if you haven’t already connected the dots from my past ramblings (and by that mean all of my other posts, which you should totally read, you know, if you wanna…), I am a wee bit of a night owl.

I can’t pinpoint exactly when I decided to throw caution to the wind, and also my sleep schedule, but my mediocre ability to remember specific time periods tells me that it was somewhere near the end of middle-school. Then again, my mediocre ability to remember specific time periods lies to me all the time, so it shouldn’t really be trusted.

Regardless, years of “living” mostly at night, have altered my ability to handle the daytime and all of it’s annoying quirks. Sunshine is no exception.I am convinced that my eyes have adapted to my nocturnal existence. My eyes are beasts when it comes to seeing things in the dark, but in the light? Yeah not so much…

I have come to the realization that my sensitivity to light is the equivalent of a naked mole rat’s. Never seen one? Here ya go. Just soak in all of that beauty.

Gorgeous, no?

I didn’t show you this little wrinkle-monster to scar you for life, I did it to make a point. There is a reason these guys live underground (an no, that wasn’t a jab at their lack of…uh, appeal). Their eyes are itty bity little pupil dots. The live in darkness, therefore they have no need for non-creepy normal eyes like mine that are SUPPOSED to properly filter light. Bring a naked mole rat into a sunny room and they too, would be in immense pain.

Naked Mole Rats feel my pain…

Also does anyone else feel jaded because naked mole rats look like this and not like Rufus? Kim Possible was my hero at some point in y childhood/pre-teendom, and here I am now, realizing that she lied. LIED. My unrealistic expectations in regards to the cuteness of rather repulsive animals is all her fault.

Like waking up in the morning, for example. and that is already REALLY HARD.

Then there’s the fact that 99.9% of the people in my life simply adore the sun and it’s incessant shiny-ness. This means that I often find myself forced to brave the light, and that goes double for the summer months.

I am that creep at the beach, wearing sunglasses and hiding under an umbrella while other people tan next to me. I often wear sunglasses on overcast days as well, because yes, they are sometime too bright for me. So I look like a James Bond wannabe running around downtown with shades on when the rest of the world has deemed this unnecessary.

The struggle is real, guys. The struggle is real. Sunshine happens like, ALL THE FREAKING TIME. And apparently it is vital to the continued survival of mankind, so doing away with it is out of the question (for now…).

Next time you see someone wearing sunglasses after sunset, or on a cloudy day, be nice. They could have naked mole rat eyes too. Or, just say hi because that person will probably be me…

This is a blog written by the funniest French girl I know. She is also one of my best friends in the whole wide world. She says nice things about me here, and also makes snarky comments about America and our silly culture. Check her out because she is awesome and because I SAID SO!
Please?

Not sure what your week holds for you, but mine is likely to be pretty bummerific.

1.) Bummerific: adj.

When the amount of bummer in your week exceeds normal amounts, so you invent a word that makes “bummer” sound like less of a bummer.

Mikey gets it.

There really isn’t anything majorly awful about my life at this particular point. It is just kind of a BLAH week (and it’s only Monday), so I am in a BLAH mood.

If this week had a favorite color, it would be clear.

If this week used perfume, it would be un-scented.

If this week had a catchphrase, it would be “meh.”

I am supposed to be packing all of my junk into boxes and moving it from my tiny room in my current apartment to my slightly-less-tiny room In my new apartment. I have had weeks to begin this process. Weeks. My productivity level as at a record low, however, so my grand total of packed boxes is a WHOPPING: one. That’s it. Just one. I pushed all of my movies off of the shelf they were neatly organized on and watched them topple, haphazardly, into a box that is now messy and over-flowing with DVD cases. Ta-da.

I’m also supposed to be taking care of my financial, academic, and long-term goals, as well as allotting myself more time to be a better socializer. But that all sounded stressful so I trolled the internet and finished a season of Madmen instead.

I am sort of dysfunctional in the sense that when I have a TON of stuff going on, I have absolutely zero energy/motivation to get it done.

Naturally, whenever I have nothing going on, I am restless and twitchy and ready for action that never happens. I am pretty positive I have an apathy tumor where my Responsibility bone should be, and a Hyper-Spazz cyst where my regular sleep schedule-izer is supposed to go . I should probably get that checked out…

ANYWAY, seeing as I have been the spokesperson for BLAH lately, the inspiration to write something worthwhile is virtually (completely) non-existent. So, I have slapped together a list of internet gems that have made me chuckle half-heartedly while I lamented about all of the nothing that I’ve gotten done. I hope you enjoy it.

Now that I have successfully wasted more time doing nothing (and most likely encouraged you to do the same, I finally (shamefully) feel a bit more productive.

Thank you, Internet, for constantly justifying my nonsensical coping mechanisms. I’ll talk to you again soon, most likely when I am broke, failing out of school and homeless because all I do is troll the internet.

Yep. You read that right. Unless you read it wrong I suppose…whatever, I don’t know your life.

Anywho…I would like to introduce you all to the newest member of the Awkward Family (which consists mostly of me…and a few other weirdoes…)

THIS…is Penguin.

Penguin’s first baby picture ❤

He’s an unidentifiable abandoned baby bird that my roommates and I rescued last week. He is bald and pink and glorious and hideously adorable and we are in love with him, or at least I am.

The Furballs (my roommate’s two insidious felines, you can read more about them in their post “The Furballs”) only like him because he looks like a quick snack,( and also like a Rotisserie Chicken…but we won’t go there). Naturally, they have been banished…to the living room. Apparently my roommate is still attached to her “babies”, so actual banishment was vetoed. Bummer, right?

As you can see, Penguin is pretty puny. So puny that there was virtually no way any of us could identify what kind of bird he was, so we decided for him: he is a Penguin. It is cold in Wisconsin, and he cannot fly.

Cold + Flightless = Penguin.

Logic.

Before PETA busts down my door, I want you all to know that we (my roommates and I) are not idiots. We knew that Penguin couldn’t stay with us if we wanted to give him a real chance at survival – and also it is SUPER illegal to keep wild animals in the state of Wisconsin, so there’s that too.

We tried finding the remains of what was once Penguin’s nest, but he was in a very weird place (the back stairway of our apartment, which is made almost entirely of stone and wood, but no birdy nests) and we could find nothing. Since we couldn’t find his home, we fostered him for a night in a cardboard box with a bunch of warm towels and a heat lamp. Fancy stuff, I know.

He is hard to see, but this is Penguin in his make-shift “nest”. Here you can see my roommates and I, marveling at his Penguin-ness.

I’ll admit, we had our doubts about whether or not Penguin would make it through the night. At first, he didn’t do much of anything. He would twitch occasionally, but he couldn’t actually move, and he wasn’t making any sounds, which was scary. His eyes weren’t even open yet, so he was WAY too new to realistically survive, but Penguin is a beast, and not only did he survive, but he thrived in that cardboard mansion of his.

Somewhere around 3 AM (yes, I sat up with a baby bird all night…I was a new parent, and a wee-bit over-protective. Don’t hate.) , Penguin emerged from his coma-like state and peeped his little heart out until we found him something to eat. The baby bird rescue site we referenced recommended mushed up cat food (We fed the Furball’s food TO someone who the Furballs thought should BE Furball food. This ROYALLY ticked them off…which was hilarious). It was gross to us, but Penguin couldn’t get enough of it. You just don’t know love until you’re feeding a baby bird mushed up cat food via an eyedropper. You just don’t.

To give you an idea of how itty-bitty Penguin really was, this is my hand, which isn’t all that big either. He was about as long as my thumb when he was completely stretched out.

Of course, our time with Penguin had to come to an end for his own good (and probably ours too). In the morning, after feeding him yet again (for a little guy he was kind of a pig, but that’s okay), I took Penguin to a Bird Rehabilitation center that is partnered with the Wisconsin Humane Society. Yes, there are such things as bird rehabilitation centers, who knew?

I have to give the WHS their props, what they do is truly amazing. Not many people (and certainly not enough of them) devote their lives to rescuing and rehabilitating animals, especially not baby birds. Not only did the animal expert who took Penguin (I want to say her name was Marge, but shamefully I am forgetting…sorry, Awesome Lady who took Penguin), not only did she put him in a super-awesome replica nest under an incubator, but she also promised to send me updates on his recovery. Seriously, how cool is that?! We are expecting updates in a week or so, when he should (theoretically) be a little-less bald and have his eyes open. They will also be able to confirm whether or not he is actually a Penguin. We have high hopes…illogical, but high.

For those of you who feel inspired by Penguin’s story, please know that “rescuing” baby birds is not something that we, non-animal-scientists are EVER qualified to do. The only reason we kept Penguin for any amount of time was because we found him late in the afternoon and the shelters were already closed. If you should ever find an “abandoned” baby bird, or any animal for that matter, the first thing you should do is call your local wildlife rescue center (there are more of them than you’d think) or, the DNR – Department of Natural Resources. Either organization would be more than happy to answer any of your questions, and really, they are the only ones qualified to do so.

As a quick, bird-specific reference guide, here is a link to a website that we found very helpful.

Pretty pretty please respect any wild animals you do find, and make sure to only intervene if it is deemed absolutely necessary. What looks “abandoned” or “distressed” to us may very well be natural to them, so double-check your facts before acting.

Special thanks again to the Wisconsin Humane Society, and…Marge?, for all of your help with Penguin, and the other animals you serve. You guys rock!